


Consequence

by schematise



Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anduin Wrynn Deserves Better, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mortality, Post-8.3, Sickfic, Visions of N'Zoth, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth, Wranduin Week 2020, Wrathion tries so no-one can criticise him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schematise/pseuds/schematise
Summary: "You're worried," Anduin says, his eyes slowly reopening. Wrathion meets his gaze steadily, weighing up his answer for a long moment."Yes. It would be inconvenient for me if the High King of the Alliance died in my arms."
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915234
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	Consequence

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Laeviss and Pink for being good cop and Gordon Ramsay cop respectively on this fic for me. Written for the Wranduin Week 2020 Day 4 'Free Day' spot. I refuse to acknowledge how long ago that was.

This morning's session with Alleria is going poorly.

Genn and Jaina are arguing, and Anduin's head hurts. Wrathion's silent, watchful gaze is flicking between him and the rest of the group. His role has become more school tutor trying to control a classroom than High King of the Alliance leading a meeting of advisors, and that is hardly the appropriate dynamic. Presumably, Wrathion thinks he should be doing something about it. Anduin supposes he should try.

"Jaina," he prompts, but she's too caught up to hear him. None of them are paying the slightest bit of attention at all. Less a school, he thinks wryly, and more a circus. 

"Jaina," he says again, a little louder, and she rounds on him.

"We are _better_ than this," she's saying, and at the same time Genn is rounding on him too.

"The Horde _cannot_ be trusted, Anduin!"

His head is throbbing. Still no news of Sylvanas, no clear route to victory, and all they do is argue. All they do, relentlessly, is argue and accuse each other of things. It achieves nothing, but they can't stop.

"Jaina," he says more firmly, and he can sense movement away to his right. "Please, sit down --"

"We should send our forces out there," Genn is saying, "now is the time for _action_ \--"

Alleria looks between them, one elegant eyebrow raised as she leans her weight onto the table.

"We are wasting time," she says primly, "a decision must be made."

"The decision is not _yours to make_ , Alleria! Anduin, please --"

"They are playing us for _fools_ , Anduin, do not give up this chance --"

They're not listening. 

Anduin moves to push himself to his feet, to try and draw their attention, but his arms fail to hold him. The world begins to spin, and distantly he realises his vision appears to be going a blurry grey. His ears are ringing. Hands catch hold of him and slowly lower him back down into his seat, which is helpful since he can't make sense of which way is up. 

"I think this meeting is adjourned," a voice says. Wrathion's familiar hands are holding onto him, checking his temperature and pulse. 

"Anduin..." Jaina's voice now, and she at least sounds apologetic. 

" _Now_ ," Wrathion says more firmly, and Anduin hears the sound of footsteps moving around. "Anduin, can you drink some water?" 

"One moment," he protests, and warm fingers stroke down his cheek again. 

"Have you eaten anything?" 

"Not this morning." 

Wrathion makes a soft sound Anduin recognises as displeasure, his strong arms moving around him. 

"Wrathion --" he manages, and finds himself being lifted up. "Wrathion! Don't --" 

"I'm taking you back to your room," he announces, and Anduin wants to keep protesting but he doesn't have the energy. His arm is around Wrathion's shoulders and he allows himself to be moved -- to weakly keep pace with Wrathion shouldering his way through a door. He's gently jostled by steps, more doorways, and Anduin loses track of where they are. A wave of nausea threatens, and silently he hopes his stomach calms itself so Wrathion doesn't have to deal with that too. Time blurs, and after a moment he stirs and finds he's already been set down -- slides his hands around the soft sheets under him. A blanket has been drawn up over him. 

"Anduin?" a voice prompts, "should I be calling a healer?" 

He thinks about that for a long moment. His whole body feels... strange, as if he's floating. At least his vision has started to return, enough that he can make out the silhouette of Wrathion hovering over him. Turning quickly tells him that his head hurts, but with a little rest he thinks he can heal that himself. 

"No," he says finally, "just something plain to eat, and... stay with me?" 

A long pause, the susurration of fabric on fabric. Anduin wonders, uneasily, if he's going to refuse -- but the mattress dips beside him with a familiar presence. 

"I have some plain bread. Here --" 

Anduin allows himself to be sat up -- leans back into Wrathion's broad, warm chest. His scent surrounds him, soothes and lulls Anduin into a sense of peace. 

"Thank you," he says, and the arms around him tighten briefly before they reach out for something. His fingers close over bread as it's pressed into his hands, picking off a piece to eat slowly. 

"You _must_ take more care of yourself," Wrathion chides. Anduin wants to object -- yet the current situation doesn't do much to support that, does it? He moves one hand to rest against one of the dragon's arms, and lets out a gentle sigh of resignation. 

"I can cancel everything for the rest of today," he offers, and is met with a low chuckle in answer. Is cancelling things really so funny? He looks up, but Wrathion's blurry features only loft an eyebrow in reply. 

"I'm afraid everything is already cancelled," he admits. "You need the rest, Anduin." 

Anduin wants to argue, to argue against Wrathion cancelling his appointments for him, but he supposes he gave good reason. He sighs again, turning to bury his face in Wrathion's shoulder a moment. 

"Well, if you say everything is already cancelled," he murmurs, and shifts to take another slow bite. The bread is regretfully just as dry and bland as expected, but doesn't turn his stomach. "At least take this off?" 

Cool, pale fingers latch into Wrathion's coat and tug meaningfully. Wrathion studies them, nods finally and eases out from behind Anduin to shed more of his outer layers. Anduin squirms himself up and struggles out of his own formal wear, watching Wrathion pick up his jacket, pants and shirt to carefully hang them up for him. Then he's slipping under the sheets, waiting patiently for the dragon to join him. He can feel the powerful heat from his body more clearly now, soaking into his skin through the thin undershirt and easing tension from muscles, coaxing him into relaxation. 

Wrathion's arms come around him, and Anduin glances down at them -- his heart beating harder as he leans back into the warmth. Dark tipped fingers play down his chest and Anduin suppresses a wave of desire. Wrathion has been patient, slow, has demanded nothing of him. He has his own room, guest quarters in the keep, and sleeps there often. Their courtship has progressed at an easy pace, careful, but Anduin cannot help but crave more. Cannot help but wish Wrathion's hands might slide under his shirt, press against his skin possessively. That his warmth might consume him, consume them both. 

"You should eat some more," Wrathion presses, and his hand rests across Anduin's stomach. He answers the gesture by tilting his head back, leaning it against Wrathion's shoulder and studying the blurry ceiling. Once upon a time Wrathion was the more impatient of the two of them, struggling to wait for a result. Now Anduin wonders if the tables haven't turned. 

"Alright," he says softly, "I will." 

Muscles shift under him, and Wrathion reaches to draw the bread closer. Anduin takes another piece to eat, slowly picking at it as Wrathion's fingers pull the tie free from his hair and comb through it. The motion soothes him further, and Anduin lets his mind drift. Maybe -- maybe they should use this opportunity to talk. Maybe now is the time. Anduin squirms, turning himself carefully to sit astride Wrathion's legs. Wrathion eyes him curiously, watching as Anduin tries to steady himself. His expression is irritatingly calm. He always did refuse to display any hint of uncertainty, but he must sense the tension. He must, because beneath the cool fingers Anduin presses against his chest, a rapid heartbeat betrays him. 

"Wrathion," he begins, and there's a knock at the door. They both look over, surprised, then back at each other. 

"Expecting someone?" 

Anduin shakes his head. The knock repeats, and Genn's voice drifts through to them. 

"Anduin? Are you decent?" 

Of course, Genn. He's likely still concerned. Anduin chews his lip, frowning in thought. Genn knows about them, so it should be fine, but no doubt he'll be displeased regardless. Slipping from Wrathion's lap, he focuses on the bread in his hands, glancing sideways at the dragon. Wrathion offers him a frown in reply, moving off the bed and retrieving his shirt to pull back on. 

Anduin's heart clenches. 

"Yes," he calls out finally, and reaches over as Wrathion hands him a glass of water. Everything is still a bit blurry, and his head still hurts, but he's at least steadier than he was. 

The outer door opens, and a moment later the inner door to the bedroom. Genn hesitates in the entrance as he spots the two of them, brow furrowing as he processes the scene. 

"I thought you were sick," he growls, and closes the door behind himself. 

Anduin lets out a slow breath, leans to set aside his glass of water again carefully. Warm fingers reach out and stroke back his hair. 

"What leads you to believe he isn't? Does lounging in bed not seem the behaviour of a sick man? Should he be perspiring more heavily? He's exhausted, and he hasn't eaten all day, having spent the duration mediating your _childish_ disputes over --" 

" _Wrathion_." 

Anduin frowns sideways at him and the dragon quiets, simmering. He glowers at Genn, eases down to sit on the edge of the bed. 

The man does, at least, have the grace to look guilty. 

"I could bring you something to eat," Genn offers. 

"No need, King Greymane, I have had everything we need delivered." 

It has an air of finality to it, as if Wrathion intends to simply dismiss him. Genn works his jaw in response. 

"A drink, perhaps, some tea--" 

"No need."

Genn's eyes flit away, the rejection seeming to weigh him down. Anduin looks up at Wrathion, at the stubborn tilt of his chin, and tries to think. He won't tolerate Genn lingering, not in the mood he's in, but this is too much. He's only trying to help, after all, in his own way. 

"Genn," he says softly, and the older man looks up again. "Wrathion informs me all my meetings today have been cancelled. Could you make sure my apologies have been sent on, and that they're rescheduled for the next appropriate window? I'm not certain of everyone's availability. Sometimes these things take a little back and forth." 

Genn thinks a moment, nods in acceptance. It's busywork, he's sure, but important, too. 

"If that's all?" he prompts, and Anduin nods. "Get some rest." 

The door closes with a soft click, and he turns to meet Wrathion's eyes again. 

"He's trying," Anduin protests softly, and Wrathion scowls -- pulling off his shirt again more aggressively and burrowing himself under the blankets beside Anduin. He lets himself be drawn close, lets Wrathion's arm tighten possessively around his waist. "He is, Wrathion. Please, let him try. He only wants to help." 

" _That's_ helping?" 

"He's helped me far longer than you." 

There's a long pause, Wrathion processing the full weight of it, before he lets out a long sigh. 

"If that is what you'd like," he says, finally. 

"Yes. I want you to be patient with him. I'd like you to get along, if you can, but I know that might be asking too much." 

Wrathion huffs in response, pulls Anduin closer and presses his face into soft, blond hair. It's as much as he can expect, really. As long as they can keep the peace, that is all he can ask. 

The quiet is soothing. The scent of Wrathion, close and wrapped around him, begins to ease out the tension again. 

Anduin drifts in and out of sleep, lulled by the heat and quiet. He eats small amounts of bread, a little cheese, drinks the warm tea Wrathion has in a pot for him. Slowly, his strength begins to seep back into him -- his vision begins to clear and his hands lose their subtle shake. 

Yet still, there's something here -- this gentle, attentive side of Wrathion is one he hasn't had much chance to appreciate. He's much calmer than he used to be, of course Anduin knew that. Wrathion has learnt some patience, learnt to listen more often, to work with a steadiness his younger self lacked. This, though, this _softness_ is something to behold. The way his fingers continually comb through strands of blond hair, the way he hasn't teased him at all -- keeps checking his temperature, his pulse. 

"You're worried," Anduin says, his eyes slowly reopening. Wrathion meets his gaze steadily, weighing up his answer for a long moment. 

"Yes. It would be inconvenient for me if the High King of the Alliance died in my arms." 

Ah, there's the humour, but there's something in it. Something defensive. He _is_ worried. 

"Wrathion, I'm fine. Just a little tired. I'm already feeling better! Honestly, please --" 

He struggles to sit up properly, and Wrathion's arms tighten around him. 

"You're stubborn," he points out. 

Anduin frowns. 

"I don't need a nurse, Wrathion. I told you, I'm fine. You've seen me in far worse condition, so --" 

He struggles again, and turns in Wrathion's arms so he can study his expression. Wrathion is frowning still, all seriousness. 

"I don't like seeing you this way," he admits, and Anduin lets his protest relent. 

"I'm just tired," he repeats, and Wrathion's hands lift to stroke at his face. His skin prickles, a shiver crawling down his back. "Wrathion, please. I'm not going to die." 

"You will, eventually." 

The weight of that twists in Anduin's gut, sends a heavier chill over his skin. He swallows, reaching up a hand to cover the one cupping his cheek and turns his face more into it. 

"Not yet," he murmurs. "Not today. Likely not tomorrow, either." 

He turns enough to lift his eyes back to Wrathion's, studying the frown pulling at his features, turns enough to brush his lips over the dragon's wrist. The tension is back there in the air between them, the potential -- thick, promising. 

"I thought you were tired," Wrathion growls. It sends a thrill through Anduin, and when he lifts his eyes again Wrathion's frown is more wary. 

"I'm also stubborn." 

Wrathion snorts, flits his eyes away as he tries to suppress amusement. 

"You're meant to be resting, Anduin." 

"Please, I'm not a child. Neither are you." 

There's another pause, heavy. Anduin drops his hand from Wrathion's, and leans forward to cup his face instead. He jerks back a little, not quite enough to avoid the touch, and Anduin frowns. For a moment, blue eyes study the response closely. Wrathion tries not to squirm under the scrutiny. 

"What are you afraid of?" 

"I'm not _afraid_ ," Wrathion snaps. 

"You're lying." 

"I'm not --" 

Anduin lofts an eyebrow and Wrathion trails off, breaths coming far too quickly. He is scared, but of what? Of potentially seeing him die? Or something more complex, more nuanced? A fear of the hurt that will come from being close then losing him? A fear of... hurting him? Of intimacy in general? Anduin's mind races, trying to piece together the information and make sense of it. 

"Wrathion," he repeats more softly, and he sees the resolve weaken in him. He lifts his other hand, framing his face gently. He twitches, as if considering pulling away. "I promise, I'm fine. I'm stronger than you think." 

A flicker of doubt crosses Wrathion's face, doubt he supposes he understands. Still, the Light is strong in him. He's survived far worse than this, and he doesn't doubt he will again. Anduin leans in slowly, slides his arms around Wrathion's neck and touches their foreheads together. 

"You really are stubborn." 

Anduin laughs in response, a soft bubble of it that he can't quite keep in. 

"You've always known that." 

"I have." 

He chews his lip a moment, thinking. 

"Wrathion, I --" 

Hesitation. He swallows, pushing himself onward anyway. _Stubborn_ , he thinks, _there it is again. I can't leave things alone._

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, finally. Wrathion's lips twitch in response, a ghost of a smile. "And you're terrible," he adds. The smile drops again, wariness taking its place. "Genn asked me once how I could ever bear to let you touch me, after everything. I told him if he knew you, he'd understand. There's no-one else I'd want." 

The tension races through Wrathion under him, muscles tightening, red eyes widening. His heart rate picks up, hands coming to rest on him. For a wild moment, Anduin thinks Wrathion might be about to push him off. 

He doesn't. 

Wrathion swallows, wets his lips as he tries to think. To work up to something, Anduin suspects. He moves fingers to gently rub at the back of the dragon's neck, to comb into black curls and massage his scalp. 

"You don't have to say it," Anduin assures him, "I just... want you to know." 

He hesitates, then finally breaks -- leans forward into a kiss. Desire grips him quickly and his heart pounds harder, Wrathion pressing into it. His skin prickles up like gooseflesh, muscles twitching as they tense up. Anduin thinks of all the times he dreamt of this, even back in Pandaria. When he imagined Wrathion's smug smile of pleasure, his bright red eyes, imagined freeing his hair from under the cloth that hid it and pressing him to the floor of the tavern just to see his surprise. 

This is, luckily, much more comfortable than the tavern floor. 

The kiss breaks, and Anduin feels instantly bereft as Wrathion draws back and swallows. He hesitates again, a frown pulling at his features, leans in and Wrathion jerks back to stop him. 

"Anduin," he says. "Please." 

Please what? 

He swallows down the frustration, makes himself lean back and read the dragon's expression. He's worried, still? Thinking about something, certainly, with the way his eyes keep twitching away. Wrathion used to be better at deception, when he felt the guilt less heavily. The pain of consequence is a better teacher than Anduin himself ever was. 

"Talk to me," he prompts gently, and Wrathion sighs in response. His arms tighten around Anduin again, pull him close. 

"... I can't lose you," he whispers, face turning into blond hair. "But I know I will." 

The possible implication leaves him cold. 

He can picture himself, hair going white while Wrathion barely ages a day. Is it fair, he wonders, that he wants this so desperately anyway? That he wants Wrathion to be with him regardless? Perhaps it isn't, perhaps he's trapping him here when he should be free -- flying around Azeroth as he will and loving those with lifespans closer to his own. 

It doesn't stop him wanting it. He can't stop wanting this, when he has so little in his life he's selfish about. 

"I'm sorry." He draws back again, frowns down at Wrathion's chest before finally trying to meet his eyes. He keeps them turned away, fixed on some idle point of the blankets instead. Anduin presses his lips into a thin line, thinking, then reaches to tilt his face back up and around. Wrathion twitches back, resists a moment before giving in and looking at him. 

"I --" Anduin begins, then hesitates -- swallows awkwardly. Should he be talking him into this? His fingers flex, considering it, but Anduin Wrynn has never gone down without a fight. 

He won't let this go just because Wrathion is afraid. His grip tightens on Wrathion's jaw, making him focus, and he frowns stubbornly. 

"Grief and pain are part of us, Wrathion. They teach us lessons, help us appreciate the good in life all the more. If it's too much for you I... understand, but I won't stop loving you. I can't, and I'd like to think there's plenty of years of happiness left in me yet before it comes to that." 

_Don't leave me_ , he thinks, _don't. Not now._

Wrathion twitches his eyes away again, fingers tapping an uneasy pattern down his back. The tension telegraphs through all his limbs, shoulders lifted as he turns this over. Caution is something he's learned, too, the ability to think quietly -- Anduin remembers a time Wrathion spoke constantly as he thought. Stillness, like this, is a new thing. Something else experience had to teach. 

"I suppose," he says finally, "I cannot allow Genn Greymane the victory of seeing me leave..." 

Anduin lets out a humourless laugh, shuffles to tuck himself into Wrathion's side and closes his eyes. 

"Stubborn," he complains, and Wrathion grumbles in response. 

"Perhaps I learnt that from you." 

Anduin snorts again, breaks into a real laugh this time and reaches for Wrathion's hand. He grips it, opens his eyes to gaze up at him. The concern is still there, heavy in his expression, and Anduin feels it like a physical weight pressing down on him. 

"Will you read to me?" he prompts, and Wrathion blinks in surprise. 

"I... suppose I could." 

"I'd like that." 

There's a moment of hesitation before Wrathion reaches out and picks up a book from the side table. A history of Zandalar, he notes. He'd have preferred it be a little less work-related, but he supposes that cannot be helped. Anduin is an avid reader, and likes to better himself, to learn as much as he can. He shuffles the two of them, draws up the blankets and moves the pillows so they can sit pressed together. 

"I would rather be reading you something lighter," he admits, "I found a good book about a pirate quite recently, I had been thinking of sending it the way of your spymaster." 

Anduin turns this over, trying to decide how much he wants to indulge the train of thought. 

"What sort of book?" he prompts, with the sense he might regret asking. 

"There was a great deal of discussion of stormy seas of passion and ships being at full mast." 

Exactly as Anduin suspected. Colour creeps into his cheeks, and he lets out a guilty laugh as he imagines Shaw's face. 

"Do you think he needs the encouragement?" 

"I thought it might provide some inspiration." 

Anduin huffs at that, settles against Wrathion's chest as the book is flipped open and leafed through to where the bookmark sits. 

"I don't know the last time he took a holiday, perhaps I should suggest it." 

"Something you both have in common, it seems. Consider taking your own advice." 

Anduin sighs, lets his eyes slip closed again. 

"I thought you above bullying a sick man." There's a pause, long enough that Anduin opens his eyes in concern, and Wrathion is frowning down at him again. He swallows, leans up to press a gentle kiss to his jaw. "Read to me?" 

Wrathion nods, tucks Anduin in closer and rests his cheek against the top of his head. He reaches out for the lukewarm cup of tea, offers it to Anduin to sip at as he listens. 

"Very well. Let us read about the dawn of the blood trolls." 

The dragon props the book up where he can flip the pages with one hand, and the low, rich tones of his voice wash over Anduin as he settles himself once more. He'll probably have to read it again, later, to be able to remember any of it, but that doesn't matter so much. The sound of Wrathion's voice is soothing, and they rarely take the opportunity to relax together this way. 

Perhaps Wrathion is right, perhaps he should take his own advice. 

For now, at least, he can try to enjoy the rest of his day off.


End file.
